


Rending

by JudeAraya



Series: Fade To Black [4]
Category: Glee
Genre: Heartbreak, M/M, mild/rough sex, references to infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 16:29:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JudeAraya/pseuds/JudeAraya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompted after 4x04: breakup sex in that bed</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rending

**Author's Note:**

> this was very emotional to write and very emotional to read. It's in this verse for minor references maybe only I can see, but it belongs here as a part of a larger story.

Once he stops crying, he’s numb.   
  
And numb is good.   
  
Time passes and he folds himself into the bed. Everything registers; cool sheets parting for his toes, the way the pillow gives under his half curled hand. Blaine, breaking and breathing next to him.   
  
Numb is good. Without it, Kurt thinks, the first thing he’d feel is that — Blaine breaking. Or himself.   
  
Maybe it’s the same thing.   
  
 _No_. Kurt’s eyes open in the dark where there’s nothing to see anyway. If it were the same thing, this wouldn’t have happened.   
  
Numb, Kurt thinks.   
  
His whole body feels like it’s somehow untethered, muscles and joints and cartilage separating and shifting and sinking into the bed. His shoulderblades press down against the mattress. He can feel his body, the cotton and cotton of clothes and bedding, but nothing else.   
  
Until Blaine turns. It’s just his head, rolling to the side. Kurt doesn’t see it — he’s looking up at nothing where the ceiling, he supposes, still is. Although he’s not sure anymore. That’s not the saying is it? It’s the rug that’s supposed to have been taken.   
  
But it’s doesn’t matter because Blaine turns and Kurt  _knows_. He doesn’t see it or even feel it, he knows it. Knows because Blaine is so much a part of him he can’t not.   
  
And then they come back, feelings like a swarm. They sting and prickle and fill him and he’s come back into his body with a gasp and it hurts.   
  
“Kurt?” Blaine is whispering through tears. His voice has that small scratch, the hitch that breaks through when he’s crying. Kurt hates that he knows that.   
  
“Don’t.” He turns too. He doesn’t mean too, but Blaine’s heart still feels like his axis; what else can he do? He’s still turning and turning around Blaine and until this night, that’s always felt like love. “Don’t speak.” His fingers are on Blaine’s lips; they’re parted and sweet damp from tears.   
  
Blaine shakes his head, a minute movement that telegraphs through the pads of Kurt’s pain tingling fingers and then his own fingers are on Kurt’s lips, and Kurt’s whole body comes alive. Alive in pain and in pleasure-memory and in the longing he’s carried for his boy all these days they’ve been apart. It’s a song he can’t unsing, the way he wants Blaine. It’s out in the world and Kurt knows that he’ll never be able to get it back.   
  
His fingertip catches, pulls Blaine’s lower lip as it drags down. It presses hard into his chin and neck and curls in when his hand comes around Blaine’s neck.    
  
Palm flat against Blaine’s chest, he feels when Blaine breathes to speak and surges forward; lips and teeth hard up against the winged rise of Blaine’s beautiful collarbone. He bites. When Blaine gasps, he does too, breathing out in a murmur —  _shut up shut up shut up_  — his fingers too clumsy while they slip the large buttons of Blaine’s pajamas through the buttonholes.   
  
Blaine wants to speak, Kurt knows. He can feel it in Blaine’s breath where his teeth scrape over his heart.  _Shut up, shut up, shut up_ ; Kurt fold the words against the Blaine’s stomach and hips, up against his neck and behind his ear.   
  
Kurt isn’t gentle. He pulls and pushes and strips Blaine until he’s nothing but skin and bones and so, so small in Kurt’s hands. He presses against him hard, letting his hip bones rub against Blaine’s, forehead hurting tight against his. It hurts, it all hurts; it rises in his heart which is hard beating and surges into his arms and legs. Blaine’s hands are under his shirt and Kurt lets him.   
  
Blaine’s cheek is snug cupped between the crest of his cheekbone and the sweep of Kurt’s nose and it’s wet with tears. Kurt can feel his mouth whispering the words —  _shut up shut up shut up_  — because so long as he doesn’t have to hear Blaine speak he can hold on.   
  
Blaine’s legs open ( _is this what you did)_ , and his hands finger-dig into Kurt’s hips ( _did he hold you this way_ ) and their bodies are hot and damp and not damp enough where they rub together ( _was he better_ ) and when Blaine turns to kiss him, lips just catching the edge of his, Kurt can’t ( _why wasn’t I enough_ ).   
  
“Kurt.” Blaine breathes, imploring.   
  
“No,” Kurt pulls away, fisted hang thumping weakly against Blaine’s shoulder. “No, no, no.” And it all crests and pulls and swamps at once; his tears and his orgasm and a pain in his chest so deep.  Blaine under him is vibrating and pulsing and they are spilling so hot against each other and his lips draw to Blaine’s because they’re like magnets, the two of them, and he just can’t not do it.   
  
Blaine’s lips give under his ( _but did he kiss you like I do)_ , mouth salty and wet and  _home_. Just like home. He’s crying, or Blaine is — tears are running down Blaine’s cheek and over his hands where they frame Blaine’s face. And he can’t tell. He can’t tell which parts are his and which are Blaine’s and which parts of his body belong to him anymore. Which parts of his heart belong to him. He doesn’t want to pull away; he doesn’t know how he can take any part of himself back because they’ve been given. So he kisses and kisses and kisses Blaine’s lips ( _is this the last time_ ), and then pulls away.


End file.
